Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/322

 . 14, 1831.] be endured, and her affections had always deepened towards him with these thoughts. But George Newton poor, it was a desperate struggle with duty, and tears, and remorse.

“I have left her in her room, poor girl,” said Mrs. Wilson to Westby, as she entered the library. “I can afford her no comfort.”

“She does love him, then,” muttered Westby to himself.

“Lilian has told me about the arrangement for seeing George. Now, only to think he should have been so foolish as to meddle with that wretched bank.”

“Foolish fellow! there was no stopping him;—but tell me about this love affair of his, I met the Temples in Switzerland last autumn.”

“Well, I happened to fall in with them at Paris: we were staying at the same hotel, and I became very intimate; they made me remain at their house in London for a few days on our return from the continent. George Newton saw Lilian at the theatre, and was immensely struck with her; he found that I was staying with the family, and he made me introduce him—in the shortest possible time he made her an offer, and was accepted. Before this occurred Lilian had promised to stay a short time with me while my son was away; I would not forego the promise—the result is that George Newton has insisted upon taking up his abode here, he says it’s such a bore to get across the hill at night. I find you’re an old friend of the Temples.”

“I used to be very intimate with Frederick Temple; I suppose he’s in India by this time; he was intending to get down to Marseilles soon after I left Interlachen.”

“Poor George! it will be a sad blow to him to leave the country—I never saw a man more deeply in love.”

“But he’ll have to go for all that,” replied Westby.

Westby and Lilian did not meet till it was nearly time to start for the night ride to bid adieu to her lover. She entered the room veiled for warmth against the night air. Mrs. Wilson who had been conversing with Westby, arose to prepare herself for the journey. Lilian would evidently have accompanied Mrs. Wilson out of the room, had that lady not begged her to stay in order that Mr. Westby might explain some particulars about Newton’s affairs.

“I suppose we must try to get to the down road,” said Mrs. Wilson.

“It would be less risk for Newton,” replied Westby; “I have been talking to the coachman, he thinks he can manage it.”

There was a dead silence when Mrs. Wilson had left the room. Lilian drew back her veil, her face was very pale and her eyes red with crying.

“Have you heard from your brother lately?”

“Yes, he’s quite well, he had joined his regiment at Meerut.—Dear Fred, I wish he were here now,” and Lilian broke into tears. “I’ve no one to speak to, to advise me—”

“Mrs. Wilson!”

“She’s Mr. Newton’s friend!”

“Well then—”

“This interview, this interview, it’s terrible.”

“This bank affair is indeed a sad misfortune.”

“I can’t go—dare not go,” she covered her face with her hands.

“But you promised—”

“Oh, Karlo Magno, despise me, tell me I’m heartless—wicked—I never ought to have accepted George Newton—I’ve learnt that now—but things were so different when he made me an offer.”

Westby trembled with strange sensation at her words.

There was a terrible pause.

Oh, what power was in Westby’s hands! what temptation in his burning heart!—he felt he held Newton’s fate—but the man was his friend, had fairly wooed and won the girl, in the hour of misfortune had left her in his charge; nevertheless he recollected that day at Interlachen, when he might have called Lilian his own, and now there was one last opportunity thrust in his very fingers—one firm grasp.

“Ah, Lilian!—”

She started at his voice, and stood up, gazing earnestly on him with her tearful eyes. Words of folly, and far worse than folly, were on his lips, but this movement of hers arrested their utterance.

“Karlo Magno! listen to me,” she spoke in a low firm voice. “You are Fred’s oldest friend. Chance, I know not, it may be God’s ordering, has placed you near me now. You know my brother well, you do know him because your nature is true and good as his.” Westby shuddered, and instinctively shrank back. “I want to speak to you as I should have spoken to him, it would strengthen and comfort me to hear your answer, knowing that that answer would be his. George Newton was introduced to us by Mrs. Wilson; he sought the introduction, he was greatly struck with me, she said. Well, in a short time he made me an offer. I was urged by my father and mother, by all, to accept him; his wealth and position, good nature, good heart, were strongly insisted on—I did accept him! Mind, I take the full burden of that act on myself. I loved him, as hundreds love, who marry in a good position. I do honestly believe as a rich man I could have made him a good wife—but ruined! there are all sorts of hardships, need of deepest love to endure them, and this, alas!—folly! I feel all this is idle talk; while I speak, I know Fred’s answer, yet I should like to hear some one pronounce the words. Am I still bound to George Newton?”

Called upon to be a counsellor, confided in as a father confessor, stung to the quick by a sense of his utter unworthiness for such a position, shamed at his own base weakness—yes, and the very words which he ought to speak placed in his mouth by the strength of her who was asking support of him—worst of all, to have to play the impostor, assuming a moral authority to which he had forfeited all claim—

“Am I bound, Karlo Magno?” she thought in his silence he was wisely pondering her words.

“You are bound, Lilian,” he replied, affecting as much decision as lay in his power.